


Lost And Found

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CryoFitz, Domestic, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Perthshire Cottage, Post Season 5, Reunions, Season 6 Speculation, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: The team finds Fitz in space.Back on earth, Jemma and Fitz leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and finally start to work on their well deserved happy ending.*Chapter 1: Jemma is mourning Fitz. The team is there to help her with her pain. They go to Hunter and Bobbi in hope for an indication of Fitz's whereabouts in space.Chapter 2: The team finds Fitz and they wake him up. Jemma tells him what happened. They make an important decision.Chapter 3: Jemma and Fitz go to a cottage in Perthshire and start to work on their happy ending. It's not easy. But together they are stronger than all the trauma and tragedies of the past.





	1. Without You

_It's a mild summer night._   
_The darkness is subdued by the soft light of a full moon in the night sky._   
_Here, secluded in nature, all the stars are visible and form a dense mosaic._   
_It's beautiful._

_Outside, the crickets are chirping unremittingly.  
  
Jemma feels safe.  
  
She lays her head on Fitz's gently rising and lowering chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.  
It's mesmerizing in a pleasant way.  
  
Fitz slowly runs a hand through her hair.  
Jemma looks up at him, smiling.  
  
But her smile dies when she sees the look on Fitz's face.  
Pained and desperate.   
_

_ "What's the matter?"  Jemma asks worriedly.  She puts a hand on his cheek.  "Talk to me, darling."  
  
Fitz looks at her, his eyes full of sadness and regret.  
"I'm sorry," he whispers.  
  
Jemma doesn't understand.   
All calmness slowly disappears from her heart, replaced by an unpleasant, somber foreboding.  
"What are you sorry for?"  
  
"I'm sorry I left you alone," Fitz says.  
  
And then suddenly, fine dust trickles from his hand into hers.   
She freezes.  
The next moment she sees a fine thread of blood hanging from the corner of his mouth as he opens it to whisper once more, "I'm sorry ..."  
  
Jemma opens her mouth and - _

 

she screams.  
She screams loud and high-pitched, frightening herself.  
  
Her eyes are wide open, staring into the void.  
She sits upright in bed and for a moment she's completely disoriented.  Drifting helplessly between dream and reality.  


Breathing hectically, Jemma looks around.  
She's in a small bunk. There's only room for the narrow bed she's laying on, a table and a chair. There's no window.  
No starry sky.  
No full moon.  
No ...  
  
Fitz isn't next to her.  
  
And then she remembers.  
The memory is an icy sting in her heart.  
It takes her breath away.  
She moans, pressing a trembling hand over her mouth.  
She lowers her head, as dizziness and nausea threaten to overwhelm her.  
  
The truth of reality is a nightmare of its own.  
  
Fitz is dead.  
A few weeks ago she stared at his lifeless, dusty body, held his cold hand and tried to _understand_.  
A few weeks ago she buried him.  
A few weeks ago she cried for him and suddenly realized that in space another Fitz - not really another, not really ... - was waiting. Waiting to save them. But now he would wake up to a world that is already saved. He would wake up alone.  
  
A few weeks ago she realized that they have to find him.  
  
Jemma's breath begins to calm down, but her heart is still beating fast and loudly in her chest.  
The dream ... It's not the first of its kind. And this one was ... quite harmless actually.  She had worse.  
Much worse.  
  
"Jemma?"  
  
A quiet voice from the door jolts her out of her thoughts.  
She raises her head in surprise and sees Daisy standing in front of her.  Her hair is messy and her tired eyes are bloodshot.  
"Nightmare?" She asks softly.  
  
Jemma nods.  
  
Daisy sighs.  She leans her head against the doorframe.  
"I can't sleep well either," she says quietly, biting her lip.  "It's ... I can't stop thinking about Coulson. The thought of him being gone is ... somehow absurd.  But at the same time it's real.  It may already have happened.  He could already be dead.  And Fitz ... God, I can't believe he's dead.  I wanted ... I wanted to talk to him. I was already preparing words.  I wanted to talk to him, Jemma. Wanted to work things out."  
She looks at Jemma helplessly.  
  
Jemma nods.  
"I know, Daisy," she says softly.  "I know."  
  
Daisy swallows.  
"Can I do something to help you?" She asks uncertainly.  
  
Jemma shakes her head slightly.  
"I don't know …"

"Can I come to you into bed?" Daisy asks hesitantly, yet obviously hopeful.  "Maybe it helps ... helps us both."  
  
Jemma swallows, nodding in agreement.  
  
Daisy crawls onto the bed behind her.  She lies down on her side, wrapping her arms around Jemma.  Then she sighs softly and Jemma can feel her slow, steady breath on her neck.  
  
Daisy's presence is warm and real.  
Like an anchor holding her in the real world.  
  
She puts her hand on Daisy's, closing her eyes.

   
*  
  
  
Once May calls her.  
She sounds tired.  But she asks urgently, "How are you?"  
  
"I'm okay," Jemma says, playing with a loose strand of her hair, lost in thought.  
  
"Jemma."ar  
May's voice sounds firm.  
  
Jemma can almost see her worried frown in front of her.  She sighs.  
"I'm not okay at all I guess," she mumbles.  
  
She hears May sighing softly on the other side.  
"Listen, Jemma. You are strong. You really are.  But don't forget that you don't have to fight the pain alone.  You have people around you, who care about you.  Let them help you alright?  You have to promise me that you let them help."  
  
"Okay," Jemma says quietly.  Tears are burning in her eyes.  "Okay, May. I promise."  
  
"Good."  
Then May ends the call.  
It seems almost hastily.  
  
_Maybe_ , Jemma thinks, _because she doesn't want to be asked how_ she _is doing.  
_  
The possible meaning of this thought hurts.  


She doesn't tell Daisy about the phone call.

  
  
*

  
  
Carrying on is easier on some days than on others.  
  
And today it's infinitely difficult.  
  
She can't get out of bed.  
A heavy weight pushes her down.  
Something in her tells her soberly that it doesn't make sense anyway.  
  
Why get up?  
Why shower?  
Why eat or drink anything?  
It's all pointless.  
  
How can she exist without Fitz?  
  
There is a hole in her heart and nothing can fill it. Not even the hope of finding him in space.  
  
She wants him back.  
She wants her husband back.  
Wants him back _now_.  


She can't do this.  
  
She presses one of Fitz's cardigans to her chest, buries her face in it and cries until there are no more tears left in her.  
Then she stares into the void, despairing in silence.

  
  
*

  
  
"Hey."

Jemma sits up in bed hastily as she hears the voice from the door.  
Mack stands in front of her, with two steaming mugs in his hands.  
"Warm milk with honey?" He asks and smiles crookedly.  "My mother always made it when ... when we needed a cure for sadness. It  warms the heart and dispels the bitterness, she always used to say."  
  
Jemma nods hesitantly.  
She takes the warm mug, looking down at the light liquid.  She inhales the sweet steam, smiling weakly up at Mack.  
"Thank you."  
  
Mack hesitates, then points to the bed.  
"May I?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
He settles down next to her and the mattress creaks under his extra weight.  
For a while they just sit next to each other, sipping their milk and it's just fine.  
It feels comforting.  
  
At some point, Mack asks softly, "How are you?"  
  
Jemma swallows.  
"Today is bad," she mumbles. "I feel empty and yet full with pain and sadness. As if every bit of energy has disappeared from my mind and body."

Mack nods. He lays a hand on Jemma's shoulder. He's a comforting presence. As always.  
  
She looks up at him, swallowing.   
"How are _you_?  You ... it must haunt you."  
  
They both know what she means.  
Mack is tortured by nightmares, exactly like her.  
In them he sees Fitz dying over and over again, while holding his hand and imploring inwardly that anything - a miracle - is happening that will eliminate this terrible injustice.  
  
Mack sighs heavily.  His thumb glides uneasily over the mug in his hand.   
"I miss him," he finally says.  "Every second.  And it hurts my heart to know that he was gone before ... before we could sort things out.  Without us being able to try to get at least a bit of that back what we once had." He presses a hand against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.  "And I'm sorry, Jemma," he says quietly, desperately.  "I'm sorry I couldn't protect him ..."  
  
"No," Jemma says quickly, squeezing his hand.  "Don't blame yourself.  That would be wrong.  It would lead you to a dead end.  It wasn't your fault.  It was ... it was like a whim of nature.  Terribly arbitrary.  And Fitz ... Fitz has made a decision.  He decided to help you, Polly and Robin, although he thought time was fixed.  And I'm glad you were with him, Mack.  He wasn't alone.  That's ... it's a little comforting."  
  
Mack nods, letting out a quiet sound that ressembles a sob.  
Jemma sees tears shining in his warm eyes.  
She puts a hand on Mack's arm, closing her eyes.  
  
  
They sit there, united in their pain and need for comfort.

 

*

 

They find Bobbi and Hunter in a remote area somewhere in Scandinavia.  
  
The nature there is breathtaking.  
The air is fresh and clean.  
Everything seems peaceful and quiet.  
It's idyllic.  
  
A small hut on a meadow covered with wildflowers is their destination.  
  
Jemma knocks on the door.  Nervousness and excitement make her heart beat faster.  
  
Nothing happens for a moment.  
  
Then Bobbi opens the door, a gun firmly in her right hand, a worried expression on her face.  
Her eyes widen slightly as she sees the team in front of her.  Her surprised gaze slips from Jemma to Daisy, to Mack and Yo-Yo with her robotarms, to Davis and Piper, and back to Jemma again.  
"Wow," she says and puts the gun loosely in her waistband.  "Um, what are you doing here?"  
  
Jemma clears her throat.  "We need your help," she says softly.  
  
Bobbie nods slowly and then moves aside.  "Come in.  I'm really happy to see you."  
A warm smile spreads across her face.

  
*

  
  
"So he did it, right?" Hunter asks, grinning in satisfaction.  "He found you and made sure that you can save the world? That maniac. Well, where is our Sleeping Beauty?"  
  
Jemma's stomach drops.  She lowers her head.  
She gathers for the words she doesn't want to say.  
"Fitz is dead," she says quietly.  As always, when she speaks out the truth, whether to someone else or to herself, she's overwhelmed by an icy shudder and the feeling of numbness.  "He died while protecting other people." She smiles sadly.  "Protecting people.  He could do that way better than protecting himself ... "  
  
Hunter stares at her.  His look changes from incredulous to stunned and painful.  Gone is all self-assurance and arrogance.  As if wiped off his face, which turns into an expression of grief and pain.  
  
And Jemma feels her heart ache for him as she rediscovers how much Fitz actually means to Hunter.  
  
"I told him not to die," Hunter says dully.  He rubs his arms, lowering his head.  
"Damn it …" He kicks against a chair. Hard.  
  
Jemma swallows.  
"Um. He's ... he's not quite gone," she says carefully, playing with her hands restlessly.  "The Fitz you broke out of prison, who has frozen himself to travel to the future, is still out there, somewhere in space.  We have to find Enoch's ship.  And we thought ... Fitz said something about Enoch leaving you the coordinates?  For a possible emergency?"   
  
Hunter stares at her.  He raises a finger as he grimaces, obviously thinking hard.  
"Wait ... you want to tell me that two versions of Fitz existed at the same time?" He finally asks stunned. "And there's one of them still out there? Waiting to be found?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hunter blinks a few times, his mouth opening in mute surprise.  
Finally, he exhales audibly through his nose and shakes his head.  
"Bloody hell," he mumbles.  
  
Jemma smiles at him weakly.  
"Bloody hell indeed."

  
  
*

 

The coordinates are written on a small, crumpled piece of paper that Hunter digs out of his purse.  
  
Jemma stares at the scribbled numbers.  
"Thanks," she mumbles.  
  
Careful hope starts to fill her heart.  


Their search finally has a concrete destination.

  
  
*

  
  
They decide to spend the night with Bobbi and Hunter.  
  
For dinner there's spaghetti.  An obvious food when you have to feed a whole group of people that unexpectedly showed up on your doorstep.  
  
Jemma eats only the most necessary.  
She isn't hungry at all.  
She worries too much.  
  
There's still so much that could go wrong.  
What if they can't find Enoch's ship at the given coordinates? If it's gone?  
What if someone else somehow found them and took Fitz away?  
What if Fitz wakes up and isn't ... isn't himself, but for some reason the Fitz from the Framework? The Doctor ... the thought reminds her of expressionless glances without recognition, without love, without ...  


Jemma suddenly feels sick.  
  
She mumbles an apology and pushes her chair back. Gets up quickly and runs to the bathroom.  
She sinks to the floor in front of the toilet.  
But even though she feels so sick that it hurts, she's not throwing up.  Instead, her stomach is cramping and she punches the toilet bowl in desperate frustration.  
Pain twitches through her knuckles and she sobs.  
  
Suddenly there's a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Jemma."  
  
It's Bobbi.  She strokes over Jemma's back and says softly, "Come on ..."  
She helps Jemma to her feet, guiding her to sit down on the now closed toilet lid.  
  
Jemma wipes the tears out of the corner of her eye.  
She looks aside in shame.  
  
But Bobbi puts a hand on her cheek and turns her face so that she has to look her straight in the eye.  
"How are you?" Bobbie asks softly.  "Be honest to me," she adds.  
  
Jemma looks down at her hand, which throbs in numb pain.  
"I don't know.  Sometimes I just feel empty.  Sometimes my heart is so full of different emotions that I think I'll just break apart.  And often I wonder if I'm dreaming, because it ... it doesn't feel real. But it _is_ real. He  ... he died.  And I wasn't even with him.  It hurts so much." She lowers her head, sniffing.  
  
Bobbi nods understandingly.  
"And how are you feeling right now?" She asks.  
  
Jemma thinks about it.  
It's difficult to find a name for the mixture of emotions that are constantly changing.  
"Sad.  But not ... not normal-sad." She frowns as she searches for a word that fits.  "Rather ... angry-sad."  
She nods in relief.  
"Yes.  I _am_ angry.  Angry that we were torn apart, that we couldn't do anything about it, that we ... that we never get the happiness we seem to chase constantly," she stammers tearfully.  
  
Bobbi nods thoughtfully.  
She squeezes Jemma's hand and smiles encouragingly.  
"Come with me."  
  
She leads Jemma to her training room.  


Jemma observes puzzled how she takes out bandages and two pairs of boxing gloves.  
Bobbi wraps Jemma's hands first, then her own. She works quietly and slowly.  
Jemma lets her.  
  
When Bobbi is finished, she gives Jemma boxing gloves.  "Put them on," she says softly.  
Jemma obeys.  
Bobbi nods in satisfaction, putting on her own boxing gloves.  
She looks at Jemma askingly.  
"Your anger. Let it out now," she says, raising her hands, showing Jemma her open palms.  "Don't keep it all in your heart.  Let it out."  
  
Jemma hesitates.  
  
"Come on," Bobbi says.  


Jemma tries a half-hearted punch that lands in the middle of Bobbi's right hand.  
"Good," Bobbi says.  "Now harder.  Give me everything you've got. Don't hold back."  
  
Jemma strikes again.  This time stronger.  Then again. And again.  
She finds a rhythm.  
Bobbi just stands there and blocks her punches.  Safe and steadfast.  
  
After a while, Jemma starts to wheeze and she feels fine beads of sweat running down her neck.  
It feels good.  
Liberating.  
The longer she strikes, the more she feels the anger leaving her.  
At some point she screams at every punch.    
Letting out what makes her heart heavy.  
  
And for the first time in a while, she feels a little lighter.

  
  
*  


  
"Thanks," Jemma says the next day, hugging Bobbi.  Then she squeezes Hunter's hand, smiling at him weakly.  "We will find him ..."  
  
Hunter nods.  
"Good luck. And when you've found and awakened Sleeping Beauty out there," he says grimly, "Then take good care of him. I can't be always around, you know!"  
  
Mack snorts, smiling half-heartedly. Hunter pats him on the back.  
  
"Do you want to come with us?" Jemma asks him softly, after a moment's hesitation.  
  
Hunter looks at her in surprise.  For a moment it seems as if he's about to say yes.  
But then something changes in his eyes, his look gets softer and he shakes his head.  
He glances at Bobbi, who suddenly puts a hand on her stomach.  
And Jemma understands.  
Despite her constant sadness, she feels a rush of joy for the two.  
  
"I have to stay here for them," Hunter says quietly.  "But when you found him and you are back on earth, you are always welcome here."  
  
Jemma nods.  She looks at Bobbi and smiles.  
"Congratulations," she says.  
  
"Thank you.  Better late than never, right?" Bobbi says, returning the smile.  
  
Jemma nods.  "Yes."  
  
She hears the words reverberating in her mind for a long time afterwards.  
Later, as she sits on her bed and once again goes through the pictures of Fitz on her phone.  
  
_Better late than never._  
  
Maybe she'll say that sentence once too.   
Maybe …  


  
*  


  
They are back in space.  
  
Hardly any of them have a look left for the peculiar beauty around them.  Hardly anyone but Davis, sitting in the cockpit and maneuvering through the vastness with a sure hand, as if he had never done anything else.  
Piper is sitting next to him.  
The two are a little distant.  Maybe because they want to give the others room for their grief, which they do share but don't feel in the same form as Jemma, Mack, Yo-Yo and Daisy.  
  
Those three are sitting together most of the time, drinking tea.  
Little words are exchanged.  
They are all absorbed in their thoughts and feelings.  
In their hopes and wishes.  
Or fears.  
  
Once again, Jemma imagines how her first meeting with Fitz could go.  
Imagine what it will be like to finally hold him back in her arms.  To inhale his familiar smell and feel his touch.  
Having him next to her when she falls asleep.  And wake up with his peaceful face in front of her.  
  
It seems like a dream ...  
  
She hopes it's one of those dreams that are destined to become true.

  
  
*

  
They find Enoch's ship.  
  
They find Enoch's ship and Jemma begins to tremble with excitement and worry when she finally sees it in front of her.  
  
"Ready?" Mack asks her quietly.  
  
She shakes her head gently.  "I'll never be ready," she says softly.  But she takes the hand Mack offers her and gets ready to enter the ship.

 

_  
I'm coming for you my love.  
  
I'm here.  
  
I crossed the galaxy for you.  
  
And now that I've found you, I won't let anything come between us.  
  
_ _It's time._  
_It's time to stop waiting for happiness and instead taking it ..._  



	2. Ends and Beginnings

First comes the cold.  
Sharp, burning and all-embracing.  
The light comes after. It’s much more tentative. It starts with blurry white spots in his still mostly dark field of vision. The spots change into a curtain of too bright light, that blinds him, and he realizes, he just opened his eyes.

Fitz blinks a few times and groans.  
He shudders.  
_Why is it so cold?  
Why …_

His thoughts are a frustrating mixture of confusion and blankness. The solution for this situation, for the coldness and the numbness in his limbs, seem just out of reach.

He squeezes his eyes shut. The white spots are back, dancing in the dark around him.  
There’s a faint throbbing in his head.  
He feels strange.  
Dissociated.  
He doesn’t know where he is. Or _when_ he is.  
Dreamless sleep knows no place or time.  
It just is.  
He knows distantly, that he was asleep for a long, long time. Or … he was supposed to be.  
But he’s not sleeping now, is he?  
It’s like it is with all his current question.  
The answer is somewhere in the chaos of thoughts in his head, nowhere to be found.

When Fitz tries to move his hands, they feel so cold it hurts.

It’s almost as if they are … frozen.

Frozen.

His thoughts come back together, joining into one clear thought.  
_I was._  
_I was frozen._  
_Because …_

_Oh._

It all comes back in a second, and it crushes him.  
He abruptly opens his eyes again, blinking into the light around him, that isn’t that bright, he now realizes, it’s more a half-light.

There are shadows in front of him. Figures without clear contours.

One moves closer and says his name.  
“Fitz.”

The voice makes his cold heart beat faster and warms it up.  
He gasps in shock and disbelief.  
The shadow breathes his name again.  
Slowly, the contours come back.  
They make the shadow shine bright like an angel.  
Wide open shining hazel eyes he could drown in.

Jemma.

Fitz raises one of his trembling – cold, _so cold_ – hand, reaching out for her carefully.  
Is she real?  
Please let her be real.

But then Jemma makes a small, broken noise and catches his hand in the air, squeezing it firmly, pressing a kiss on it.  

She’s real.  
And she’s crying.

Instinctively Fitz wants to draw her close to him. Wants to tell her everything’s alright. Wants to dry her tears. But he still can’t move. And when he opens his mouth, he can’t form words. Just a syllable. And this syllable doesn’t sound comforting at all. It sounds desperate and longing. “Jem …”

Jemma sobs.  
She moves to cross the last bit of distance between their bodies, wraps her arms around him, presses her face against his cold chest and weeps.

Fitz closes his eyes. He manages to lay his hands on her back, feeling her whole body trembling.

Jemma is all around her, and she is warm, is like a bright burning hot star, that chases away the cold from his body and heart.  
But she also radiates a certain kind of desperation. Desperation, that has built up to this moment and is now released in one single violent wave.

Fitz feels it.  
Feels the strong, painful feelings in her and tries to talk again. “Jemma … what …” His voice is hoarse from disuse. He clears his throat, suddenly longing for a drop of water. “Jem …”

 _Why are you here?_  
_I remember now._  
_I had to save you. I had to find you in the future. Is this the future? Did_ you _find_ me _this time?_

Jemma finally withdraws slightly, wiping her face.  
She lays both her warm hands on his face, looking him in the eye.  
“It’s alright. I know that you’re cold. And surely confused. I will explain everything to you, as soon as I made sure you’re fine, alright?”

She turns her head, looking at someone behind her. Another shadow.  
When it moves closer, and Fitz manages to focus on it, he realizes it’s Mack.  
He feels a rush of happiness. Mack. He missed Mack.

“Hey Turbo.” Mack sinks on his knees in front of them, smiling faintly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah. I’m glad … glad you’re here too,” Fitz mumbles.

Mack lays a hand on his shoulder. It shakes slightly and the look in his eyes is a mixture of happiness and distant pain. But before Fitz can ask, Jemma clears her throat.

“Let’s get you on the Zephyr. I want to check you over, alright?” She says.

Fitz nods dazed, but when he tries to stand up, his legs feel very wobbly and give way under him. He falls back with a startled gasp.  
Jemma and Mack catch him.   
“Easy, Turbo,” Mack mumbles.

Fitz takes a few deep breaths, frowning. His body still feels cold and numb.  
He smiles up at Mack weakly.  
“Looks like you will have to carry me out,” he jokes. “Can’t really feel my legs.”

Mack gasps. Suddenly, his eyes are filled with so much pain, that Fitz shudders.  
Mack turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. He presses a trembling hand against his forehead and draws in a shaky breath.  
  
“Mack, what …,” Fitz starts, startled, but Mack shakes his head. He raises a hand, his eyes still squeezed shut.  
“It’s nothing. Just … I just need a moment.”

Fitz doesn’t understand.  
He doesn’t understand what happens here.  
Why are they so sad and hurt?  
  
Finally, Mack opens his eyes again. He asks quietly, “Do you think you can walk, when Enoch and I support you?”

“I can try,” Fitz says.

Mack nods. He calls for Enoch, who steps forward. So far, he seemed to have watched the happenings in the background, a silent observer.

“Can you take his left side? I’ll take his right,” Mack says to him.

Enoch nods curtly. “With pleasure,” he says in his calm, monotonous voice. He reaches for Fitz’s left arm, asking politely, “May I, Agent Fitz?”

Fitz just nods. He doesn’t have the energy for talking more. He’s confused and tired and realizes, that he would very much like to sleep again.  
Sleeping was peaceful and easy.  
Living is just as difficult as it has always been.

With Mack’s and Enoch’s help, he manages to slowly leave the ship and enter the Zephyr.  
  
Jemma follows them on the step, still crying silent tears.

 

*

 

Fitz’s laying on the examination table, watching Jemma as she hurries around him, measuring temperature and blood pressure, listening to his heartbeat, taking a blood sample – all while looking like she’d rather break down and cry again.

He notices how red her eyes are. Notices the dark halfmoons under them.  
She looks exhausted. As if she didn’t sleep properly for days. No. _Weeks_.  
And did she lose weight?  
He’s almost sure about it.

At some point Jemma says, “I’m done. You’re just undercooled and a bit dehydrated. But otherwise, you seem to be fine.”  
She swallows, turning around, rummaging in a desk for a moment.

Fitz watches her back.  
Again, he feels like something really bad happened. Something, that outmatches everything they went through so far in a horrible way.  
He feels slightly sick.  
And he doesn’t know, if he really wants to know … But he has to, right?  
He has to know what hurts Jemma. What he can do to help her.  

When she turns to him again, he gathers all his courage. 

“Jemma. What happened while I was sleeping?” He asks.

She freezes, staring at him.  
Her lip begins to tremble. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Instead, she makes a broken noise and his heart aches.  
_Oh God._  
_What is it?_  
_She can’t even tell me._

“What happened?” He asks again, softer. “Please tell me. Tell me so that I know how to help you. How to make it better.”

“Oh Fitz,” she sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the examination table, laying her hand on his forehead. He involuntarily leans into the touch. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” he says softly.

Jemma nods, tears shining in her eyes again.  
She breathes in deeply.  
She reaches for Fitz’s hand, taking it, squeezing it lightly.  
“You found us,” she finally says, her thump moving in circles over his skin, feather-lightly. “You found us in the future. A dark and cruel future. The world was destroyed. Humans were living as slaves of the Kree. We were brought there through a monolith. It was confusing. It was terrifying. And you … you weren’t there.” She stops for a moment, sighing heavily. When she continued, her voice was slightly stifled, but grew stronger and surer with every word, once she found a rhythm for her story.

Fitz listens wide-eyed, his emotions changing from surprise to disbelief to wonder.

She tells him everything about Kasius, Sinara and “The Destroyer Of Worlds.”  
Tells him about Fitz’s unexpected but spectacular appearance, their escape and the lighthouse. Her gaze darkens suddenly, when she talks about a fear dimension, making the worst fears of the team members appear. But she goes quickly to another part of her story. She tells him about Polly and Robin. Hale and Ruby. About the Gravitonium and it’s horrendous effects on first Ruby, who was killed by Yo-Yo, and then on Talbot, who turned into a villain, threatening to destroy the world.   
Her voice shakes again slightly, when she talks about the impossible choice they had to make. Coulson or the world. Coulson’s life or the saving of the whole world.  
“And in the end Daisy used the only thing we had, to heal Coulson, to defeat Talbot,” Jemma finally says quietly, closing her eyes for a moment. “We left him with May on Tahiti. He decided to spent his last moments there. Together with her.”

Fitz feels a burning pain in his heart at this. Coulson … He could already be dead. And Fitz couldn’t even say goodbye.  
He looks at Jemma, who seems exhausted, her voice already a bit hoarse. But she talks on.  
“We won the battle. But we lost too much. We all felt it for the next months, while searching for you.”  
She looks at him, biting her lip.

He sees the truth in her eyes.  
But he still says it out loud. To make it realer.  
“I died,” he states quietly.

“Yes,” Jemma breathes, shuddering. She sniffs. “Yes, you did.”

“How?” Fitz asks.  
Does it even matter?  
Yes. Somehow it does.

Jemma looks away. She makes a stifled noise.

“You don’t need to talk about it,” Fitz hurries to say, as he senses her distress. “It’s alright.”

“No. No I have to talk about it. It’s … it’s just so hard,” she whispers. She takes a deep breath, then says, “You tried to save Mack, Polly and Robin, together with May. The building collapsed and … and you were buried by the rubbles. Impaled by a piece of roof.”

Fitz nods. He doesn’t quite know how to feel.  
The first clear thing he senses is worry and sadness for Jemma and her pain.  
“You weren’t there with me?” He asks.

“No. Mack and May were.”

“Ah.”  
Now it makes sense. Mack’s eyes. His reactions.

Jemma is crying again. The tears are rolling over her face, dropping down her chin.  
“It took us a while to find out that you were still in space, sleeping. And the time until this realization, it was like living a nightmare, Fitz. It was … there were times when I thought, I can’t do it,” she says. “When everything hurt too much, and nothing seemed to help. Daisy was there for me. And the others. But we were all mourning. We were mourning you. Coulson. And everything we lost.” Her voice breaks and she sniffs. “Every time I thought I cried so much that there are no more tears left, I start to cry again.”

Fitz feels tears in his own eyes. His heart hurts for her and for himself. He sits up, drawing her into a tight hug. She clings to him, pressing her face against his chest.  
“I’m here now,” he says in her ear. “I’m here now. I’m here, Jemma.”

“I thought I lost you,” Jemma weeps. “I felt so empty, Fitz. Like there was a part of myself missing. It hurt. It still hurts.”

“Tell me what I can do,” Fitz breathes. “Tell me how to take that pain from you.”

“Just hold me,” Jemma whispers. “Hold me and don’t let go.”

And he does just this.

While they are sitting like this, she tells him that they got married.  
It makes his heart ache. Because he remembers his plans to ask her.  
And now he doesn't remember their wedding, but Jemma does. And she lost her husband.  
  
How could this go so wrong?

 

*

 

The Zephyr sets course for earth again.

When Fitz feels safe on his feet again, he wanders through the ship – his ship -, touching the walls lightly.

On his journey, he runs into Daisy for the first time, his heart warming at her sight.

“Hey Daisy,” he says, smiling at her.

“Hey Fitz,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. The gesture looks defensive and he notices something in her eyes, that makes him frown. Something wary, mixed with fear.

“Is everything alright?” He asks uncertainly.

Daisy swallows. She looks down at her feet, as if she has realized, that the look in her eyes signals something they shouldn’t.  
“It’s nothing,” she says quietly. “I’m … I’m glad you’re here. I really am. But, um, some things happened, you know? I still need time to process. I’m sorry.”  
And she leaves quickly in the direction of her bunk.  
It looks like an escape.

Fitz stares after her, puzzled.

 

*

 

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Fitz asks Jemma, when they are about to go sleeping. It’s more a statement than a question.

Jemma looks at him, surprised.  
“What do you mean?” She asks carefully.

Fitz swallows.  
“Daisy … she acted like she’s scared of me. She … she said that she needs time to process ... What happened, Jemma? What does she remember when she sees me?"

Jemma sighs.  
She takes his hand.  
“Listen. Please don’t be angry. I held it back, because … it’s not easy to talk about this. And I fear, that it will hurt you. It will hurt both of us. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”  
She swallows,  
“When we were dealing with the fear dimension, something happened.”

She tells him about what happened in the darkness of their bunk.

He takes in her words, and his heart clenches painfully.  
  
“No,” he breathes.

No.  
It can’t be.  
How … how could he ever be able to hurt Daisy?!  
She’s his friend.  
No. She’s even more. She’s like a sister to him.  
And Jemma tells him he was able to cut into her with a scalpel, hurting her, giving her back her powers against her will?  
He starts to feel sick.

A psychotic split.  
He isn’t really surprised about this detail.  
He saw it coming, didn’t he? When he was alone in the cell. Alone with his demons. He heard him back then already.  
So it’s true.  
He is losing his mind and in a story he was in, but can’t remember, he hurt someone close to him because of it.

“No,” he says again. This time it comes out as almost a whimper.  

Jemma squeezes his hand, her voice sounding stifled when she speaks.    
“Listen. You were under a lot of stress. Coulson was about to die. The world was about to be destroyed. The fear dimension was threating us. We had to find a solution. Had to find it quick. And you … you worked so hard to find it. I think that your brain injury was triggered and that you didn’t have a chance to take a break caused the hallucinations coming back …”

“I heard him when I was alone. When they put me in isolation, telling me to find you,” Fitz says tonelessly. “I thought it might be schizophrenia. I started to read books about it. I knew that it would happen. I knew!”

“Fitz …”

“And I hurt Daisy. Daisy of all people!”

No wonder she looks at me like this, Fitz thinks bitterly. She will never forget … she will always see me as her torturer now.

The feeling of nausea in his stomach gets too strong.

He jumps up from the bed, hurrying into the bathroom.  
He sinks down in front of the toilet and vomits several times, tears burning in his eyes.  
When there comes nothing but bile, he sinks on the ground, hiding his face in his hands.  
He feels torn apart.  
And it doesn’t seem like there’s a way to get whole. Because he remembers two different lives and one part of one of those lives is missing.  
It’s a mess.  
How can it ever be okay again?

Suddenly, Jemma’s there in front of him, hugging him.  
“We will do this,” she whispers. “We will get through this, Fitz.”

“How,” he says bitterly, raising his head to look at her. “I’m damaged. I’m broken. Why do you even still bother with me?”

Jemma breathes in sharply.  
“Don’t do this, Fitz,” she says desperately. “Don’t push me away. You know that you are my life. And I am yours. It always was like this and it always will be like this. I love you. And nothing will ever change this.”

“It’s so much, Jemma,” Fitz says weakly, shaking her head. “It’s too much. I don’t know if I have the strength to fight this …”

“But you are not alone. You don’t need to fight this alone. We’re a team, right? You and me. We do things together. We fight battles together. This is just another one. Another battle. We can do it. Together. And we have the team. The team is helping too.”

Fitz nods, closing his eyes, leaning against Jemma, as she holds him.  
There’s still hope in him.  
It may be just a glimmer, but it’s there.  
  
  
*

 

Fitz goes to Mack to talk to him.

It ends with both of them crying.

It is like Jemma said.  
Although you think you cried so much that there are no tears left, they are still coming.

"I'm sorry, Turbo," Mack says at some point.

"For what?" Fitz asks.

"For not giving you what you needed back then," Mack says, looking aside in shame. "I should have noticed that you weren't okay. I wasn't a good friend, I fear. But I will try now. If you let me."

Fitz just nods, moved by Mack's words.  
"Thanks," he says quietly.

 

*

 

They’re laying on their bed in the dark, holding hands.

“What are we going to do, when we’re back on earth?” Jemma asks.

“What do you want to do?” Fitz replies, squeezing her hand.

There’s a moment of silence.

Then Jemma says, “I want to stop being afraid. I want to stop being scared of losing you. I want to never be scared again. I want to be able to focus on being happy, really happy, rather than merely being glad to be still alive."

“That’s what I want too. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, Jemma. I just want you to be safe and happy. It's what you deserve."

“Fitz.”

“Yeah?”

“I think we have to leave S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really?”

“Yeah. If that’s what you want. We could go to Perthshire. Moving into the cottage we were dreaming about. You and me. In the middle of nowhere. Sounds good?”

“Sounds amazing. Sounds like happiness.”

“It really does. Let’s do it. Let’s just do it.”

“Yes. Together or not at all, right?”

“Right. Jemma?”

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Oh Fitz … yes. A thousand times yes.”

 

*

 

He finds Daisy standing at a window, staring outside.

She doesn’t look at Fitz, when he moves to stand beside her.  
For a moment, there’s silence between them. Silence, that’s not only uncomfortable.

“I have enough of space,” Daisy finally mumbles, crossing her arms. “In the past, I used to look up at the night sky, thinking how beautiful it must be in space. But now? It somehow lost all magic. Now it’s just cold, dark and never-ending.” She shudders. “I want to breath fresh air again. Hear birds when I wake up in the morning and walk through green grass … Gosh. Sorry. I’m rambling.” She turns to Fitz, smiling helplessly. “I guess, I do it because I fear to face the real things and feelings.”

Fitz nods. He understands.  
And he isn’t mad at her.

Daisy clears her throat.  
“How are you?” She asks quietly.

Fitz shrugs.  
“I’m exhausted. And confused. Everything’s a mess. And I don’t know how it can ever be okay again. But Jemma says it can. And I trust her. So I hope.”

Daisy looks at him, nodding seriously.  
“You two … you will make it through this. I know it,” she says.  
She swallows.     
“I think it’s best for us all to … to go our own ways for a while, you know? We all need time to process things. And please, Fitz, don’t think that I hate you. Because I don’t. I just need time. I’m still sad, angry and confused. I can't help it.”

“You have all right to feel everything you feel in regard to me,” Fitz says quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Daisy shakes her head.  
“Don’t be. _You_ didn’t do it. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize to me. But Fitz … listen to me. You have to stop holding things back, okay? When you don’t feel good, when you need someone to talk to, we’re here. Not only Simmons. We’re all here for you. You’re fighting something inside of you. Don’t try to do it alone. I went that way once. It’s a cold and lonely one.”

“I know,” Fitz says. “Don’t worry. I already talked with Jemma about this. When we’re in Scotland, I’ll see a therapist. I’ll do anything I can to get better. Because … I really want to build a family with her, you know?”

Daisy smiles.  
“I know. And you two deserve it. You deserve happiness.”

She stretches out a hand.  
“Good luck, Fitz.”

Fitz takes the hand, looking Daisy in the eye.  
“Good luck to you too, Daisy. I hope we can work it out, someday.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I hope so too.”

 

*

 

“Let’s make a list, Fitz.”

“A list?”

“Yes. Of all the things we want to do when we’re finally home.”

“Okay. You start Jemma.”

“Alright. I want … breakfast in bed.”

“Staying in bed as long as we want. Maybe the whole day.”

“That’s a good one. Oh. And watching the sunset on a hill in Scotland.”

“And watching the sunrise from our veranda, while drinking orange juice."

“A movie marathon. With Popcorn. Ice cream. Pizza.”

“And long walks through the forest."

“Yes. And going to town, having three course menues.

"This will be a long list."

"Oh my. We have quite a lot to catch up with, don't we?"

"Yes we do. But it will be wonderful, experiencing everything for the first time. With you."

"Mmh. Fitz?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something else I didn't tell you ..."

"What is it?"

"Well. You remember the guy I was talking about? Deke? Who is now apparently - hopefully - travelling the world right now?"

"Yes. I remember."

"Well. He's our grandson."

"No."

"Yes."

"Wow. Just ... wow."

 

*

 

   
Earth has them back.

Fitz’s first step on it is insecure. He remembers that his other self died on this earth and swallows.

But Jemma takes his hand, smiling at him.  
“Come on,” she says softly, and he follows her, leaving the Zephyr, carrying their suitcases with him.

They look back at the team once.  
They already said their goodbyes.  
But it’s still hard to let go. Of course it is.

“Take care of my ship,” Fitz tells them seriously.

Daisy, Mack, Davis and Piper smile.  
“Don’t worry,” Davis says. “I won’t let anyone else fly this beauty."

“Good,” Fitz says. “You’re the only pilot I trust. Well. When May is absent of course ...”

Davis looks surprised but pleased.

They breathe a quiet bye for the last time.  
Then the Zephyr disappears back into the clouds over Scotland.  
Jemma and Fitz look after it for a moment.

They feel that this is the end of a story and the beginning of something new.

Just like it happens sometimes in life.

Suddenly, a voice rips them out of their thoughts.

“Fancy a ride?”

Fitz turns around startled, Jemma beside him smiles lightly.

Hunter stands before them, leaning against a van, grinning.  
“Damn, it’s good to see you. But you have to explain some things to me! How could you ignore my advise? I told you not to die, idiot!"

Fitz smiles, walking to Hunter, drawing him into a hug.  
“You know,” he says quietly. “That was another me. I won’t make this mistake. I won’t make any of the mistakes _he_ made ...”  
At least I'll try.  
For Jemma.


	3. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done.  
> This chapter went on and on ... it's so long now, I will have to look for mistakes later or tomorrow, because right now I'm too exhausted ^^'  
> I hope you like it a bit :3

The cottage in Perthshire is beautiful.  
  
It’s small and old but it looks incredibly cozy.  
Grey bricks and big windows, surrounded by ivy.  
There’s a little porch with a table on it.  
In front of the porch is a meadow with wildflowers and apple trees.

“It’s exactly like I imagined it all the time,” Jemma breathes.

As soon as Hunter stops the van, she jumps out of the vehicle, walking towards the cottage, looking around with a bright smile on her face.

She seems not sure if she's awake or dreaming.

Fitz slowly gets out of the car, looking after her, not sure what to think or feel.  
The long car drive gave him the chance to think too much.  
He sighs in frustration.

Hunter, who's now leaning against the van, stretching his limbs, looks at him attentively.  
“What are you thinking about, mate?”

Fitz hesitates.  
“I’m not sure anymore if _this_ is a good idea,” he eventually mumbles.

“Why?”

“Well … she’s not okay, is she? She’s still mourning. And I’m damaged. Maybe beyond repair. How can I burden her with my presence, when she’s still recovering from her own pain? Maybe it would be better if I leave. If I let her process this without having to worry about me,” Fitz says quietly. The words hurt him deep in his heart. But he can’t help but think they are true. “And,” he adds, shivering. “If I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t have to be scared I could have a break like, um, my dead self, and turn into The Doctor …”

_I can’t stand the thought of hurting her … I can’t._

Hunter clears his throat.  
“Mate. She loves you. She wants to begin a new life here, with you. Don’t even start to think about leaving. It would be nuts. You have to go through this together. And you can do it. Because you bloody belong together,” He tells Fitz seriously.

“But … You saw it,” Fitz says quietly, still looking at Jemma. “You saw what’s in me.”

“Yes. I did. And I saw it saving our bloody asses,” Hunter says dryly.

Fitz looks at him sharply.  
“Don’t. Don’t try to make it look better than it is. Than _he_ is.”

“Well, mate. It's a part of you now apparently. It happened, and I think you don’t have to fear it, if you know how to use it for your benefit,” Hunter shrugs. “You did it once already.”

“I don’t want to know how to use it, I want to get rid of it,” Fitz says, his eyes darkening.

“I don’t know if you can. You can’t get rid of your old memories. They will always be somewhere in your mind, coming to the surface from time to time, no matter how much you want to forget them. I guess you also can’t get rid of the wrong memories you have because of this Framework thing. Maybe it would be better to try to just, um, integrate it in your life, but without letting it be the thing that controls you and your actions, you know? When you have it under control, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Hunter muses.

“Well. Obviously, I don’t have it under control,” Fitz shakes his head. He gets what Hunter is trying to tell him, but he can’t see a single good thing in being split in two and having to deal with false memories, voices and hallucinations, right now. “People were hurt, because of me. It’s not a good thing. In the Framework I was bad. I was _evil_. I don’t want that to be part of me here.”

Hunter frowns.  
“Bu there’s no black or white in the world, Fitz. We all have light and shadow inside of us. You just need to find the balance.”

“How?” Fitz asks desperately. Because balance isn’t something he thinks he has. Not for the last few years. Not since … since he woke up from a nine days coma, his world completely changed and his self a fragile shell.

“Well,” Hunter says. “You need an anchor, someone who can get you back when you’re about to lose yourself. Someone who tells you when you’re about to mess things up. You don’t need to find that anchor. Because you already have her.” He nods at Jemma.

Fitz swallows.  
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, confusion, worry and doubt making it hard for him to think clearly right now. “I just want to feel whole again.”

Hunter hums in sympathy, patting Fitz on the back.  
“Just think about it. Talk about it. You're not alone. And you shouldn't think you have to do it alone. Don't be so hard on yourself, mate. You two will get through this, I'm sure."

“Thanks Hunter,” Fitz mumbles.

  
 After a moment, he walks to Jemma, who now stands on a little hill near the cottage, staring at the sight in front of her.   

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She asks him, when she notices him, not taking his eyes off the scenery in front of her.  

Fitz follows her look.  
There’s a lake in front of them, surrounded by trees and bushes.  
In the background, the sun is slowly settling down.  
The sky changes from light blue to a pale purple.

“Yes. It is beautiful,” Fitz murmurs.

It’s true.

The world is beautiful.  
But most of the time it’s just a facade, isn’t it?  
Everything can be beautiful on the outside.  
The ugliest things are on the inside, where no one can see them.  
Where they grow ranks and consume every cell of the mind …

A light breeze ruffles the silver water of the lake and Fitz shivers.

Jemma looks at him.  
“Are you alright?” She asks softly.

 _No._  
_No I’m not._  
_In fact, I think I feel more broken than ever._  
_When we were still in space, everything seemed surreal and unsure._  
_But now we’re back on earth and everything is real. Solid. And somehow this is worse. Much worse._  
_I don’t know if I can do this._  
_If I will ever be able to lead a normal life._  
_I know nothing._  
_And it hurts._

He doesn’t say any of this out loud.

“I don’t know,” he tells Jemma instead. It’s as close to the truth as he can get right now.

Jemma nods. She looks at him attentively, wiping a lost strand of hair out of her face.

“Can I have a moment?” Fitz asks her quietly.

“Sure, love,” Jemma whispers, stroking his arm, before walking back to Hunter, who’s still leaning against his van.

Fitz remains standing on the little hill, lowering his head and closing his eyes.

 

*

 

“Here,” Hunter hands Jemma a note, before he leaves.  
She looks at it, seeing a name and a phone number on it. “One of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s old therapists,” Hunter explains. “You asked me if I knew someone, and after I talked to some of my contacts, they gave me her number. She had to leave shortly after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall and settled down not far from here. I thought it would be ideal to have someone, who wouldn’t be too puzzled about all the weird bullshit that happened to you two.”

“Thanks Hunter,” Jemma says, faintly smiling up at him.

“You’re welcome. I hope Fitz will be better soon. And I guess it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you talked to her too. You know, Bobbi and I went to therapy sessions too, after … after what happened to her because of fucking Ward. And it helped,” Hunter says seriously. “I was doubtful at first. I thought I can do it all by myself, you know? Help Bobbi. Help my own bloody ass. But … it didn’t quite work. It was simply too much. Therapy helped, because we could give our pain over to someone else, someone not involved. And after, our relationship wasn’t all about the trauma anymore. It’s a good thing.”

Jemma nods, feeling tears prickling in her eyes again.  
“I’m glad you found a way to get through the trauma. I hope Fitz and I, we can manage too. I hope we’re not, not too close to giving up.”

Hunter looks at her thoughtfully for a moment.  
Then, he lays a warm hand on her shoulder.  
“You will get through this, love. Just remember to always be honest to each other. Don’t try to be stronger than you are, just because you don’t want to hurt the other. Be honest, even if it hurts. That’s rule number one.  It won’t be easy. And sometimes you will think you can’t do it. But before the healing comes the breaking. That’s all I can say.”

“Thanks Hunter,” Jemma breaths, and then, because she feels like doing it, she hugs him goodbye.

Hunter seems surprised at first, but he quickly returns the hug.  
It feels good.  
Warm and comforting.

 

*

 

Jemma makes them tea in the evening.

 _The first tea in our cottage_ , she notes, and can’t help but smiling softly. Her heart flutters in a pleasent way.  
There will be many firsts the next days.

She carries the tea outside, where Fitz is sitting on the edge of their porch, his bare feet in the grass.

“Hey,” she says, putting the two steaming mugs on the small table, sitting down beside him. “I made us tea.”

He doesn’t answer.

Jemma takes a closer look at him.  
She freezes, when she sees his face.  
Tears are running over it, in a constant, steady stream.

He’s crying silently.

Jemma swallows, feeling her heart clenching painfully.  
“Oh Fitz,” she breathes.

She carefully lays a hand on his shoulder.

He makes a whimpering noise, but he doesn’t recoil, so she snuggles closer to him, wrapping both her arms around him, pressing her face against his heaving chest. She can hear his heartbeat, loud and steady.  
But his breaths are stifled and interrupted by sobs.

She doesn’t try to find words.

Sometimes words aren’t enough.

Instead, she speaks with her own tears she cries for him and for them. She speaks with her warmth and her hands which are holding his shaking body. She speaks with her presence. And it’s enough, because it’s them. They are long beyond words.

 

*

 

The first days, the first weeks are difficult.

Hunter was right, Jemma soon thinks.  
Sometimes, it feels like a fight they have already lost.

Sometimes, it feels like a fight they have already lost.

She bursts into tears at her first therapy session, trying to apologize a dozen times for it, while the therapist offers her a whole box of tissues, shaking her head and telling Jemma, that it’s alright, that she isn’t the first and that she should just let it out. But Jemma just can’t stop apologizing.

They don’t talk that much in the first session. Because Jemma can barely form a coherent sentence. She tells the therapist that she’s scared that she still mourns so much that she fears she can’t give Fitz the love he needs or deserves and that it makes her feel guilty and that she just wants to go on with her life, with a new and good life, without having to think about losing Fitz all the time. But it’s so difficult, because well, now it happened one time and it still hurts and what if it happens again?

That’s basically the content of her rambles. And she realizes, that there’s too much more.

But the therapist smiles at her and tells her that they will work on it together and she’s nice, understanding. So it’s bad, she thinks. But not unbearable.

Much worse is, that when Fitz comes home from his first session, he tells her curtly, that he won’t go there again.  
Then he walks right into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jemma stares after him, speechless.

 

 

“Why don’t you want to go there again, Fitz? Didn’t you like her?”

“That’s not the problem.”

“But what is?”

“I just … I don’t want to … It hurts, Jemma. It hurts to talk about all those things. I just want it to go away. But this woman, who doesn’t even know me, talks about medication and _months_ of processing and finding ways to deal with the "multiple traumas", I apparently suffered. It’s too much. And it would take too long. I can’t do it.”

“Fitz …”

“I want to be alone now, please.”

“I …  
Okay.”

 

They don’t talk.  
They don’t talk an entire day.  
Fitz is withdrawn and avoids her.  
And Jemma doesn’t know what to do. Between her own pain and his, she can’t find a bridge right now.

But then, in the evening, Jemma finds him in the shower, on the ground in foetal position, while the water is beating down on him relentlessly, like a warm waterfall.

Jemma turns the water off, wraps him in a blanket and manages to get him on the couch after much careful words.

Panic attack, she figures out, feeling a bit guilty, because she wasn’t there, to help him through it.  
Then she immediately feels guilty because the therapist told her to _not_ feel guilty about everything.  
She sighs, trying to focus on Fitz, who’s trembling, his eyes closed and his mouth a thin, grim line.

Jemma swallows.  
“Fitz,” she says softly. “You really have to talk to the therapist again. You have to find a way to deal with this …”

Fitz abruptly opens his eyes, staring at her.  
Jemma frowns when she sees the expression in his glance changing from fear and confusion to slight anger.

“I have enough of people telling me I have to _control_ whatever is happening to my mind!” Fitz says, raising his voice. “Why does no one understand that I just want to get rid of everything? I want to get rid of the false memories, telling me I’m a torturer and my, my father’s son. I want to get rid of the voice in my head telling me I’m weak and worthless and I should just give in and let _him_ take over control. I want to get rid of every image that appears in my bloody nightmares. Every image of dead people or us in this damn pod down in the ocean or … Bloody hell, I just want it all to go away! NOW!” He yells.

He makes a noise, half sob, half scream, takes the glass in front of him and throws it against the wall, where it shatters into countless pieces.  
Jemma flinches.

Fitz stares at her, his eyes widening.  
“Jemma,” he says in a broken voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she whispers, taking his hand. “It’s alright to be angry, Fitz. But you have to understand that it’s not so easy. We, we can’t turn the time back. We can’t get back what we once had. But there’s so much we can still discover with each other. Yes, behind us lies pain, so much pain and it makes me angry too, trust me. So, so angry. But you know what keeps me sane, what gives me hope, when I’m on the verge of breaking down?” She asks him, taking both his hands in hers, squeezing them.

“What?” He asks stifled, his eyes filling with tears.

She smiles faintly. “That we’re still here and that in front of us, there’s a whole new life full of new, wonderful experiences. This life, Fitz, is worth fighting for. I will fight for it. Will you fight for it too?”

Fitz swallows. He looks down at their intertwined hands.  
“And … and you’re sure, that you, um, that you want to spend this life with me?” He asks barely audible.

Jemma exhales softly.  
She lets his hands go, cupping his face, making him to look her in the eyes.  
“Yes,” she says emphatically.

Fitz sighs. It sounds both relieved and grateful.

 

The next day he makes another appointment.

When he comes back from it, he looks shaken and completely exhausted. He falls asleep on the couch immediately, although it’s noon.

But when they eat dinner later, he tells her, “It helped.”

And it’s a first step.

 

*

 

It gets better.

  
The days are light, and the most hopeful hours are those, which they spend together, drinking tea on their porch or taking long walks through the forest, holding hands.

In those hours it sometimes seems, like they have long overcome all their fears and

But then comes the night.  
With the night comes the darkness.  
Sometimes this darkness isn’t They fall asleep and awake in the morning, relieved about the new light.  
But more often, the darkness brings troubled thoughts, which make it impossible to fall asleep.

Fitz fears those nights.

Today is one of them.  
In the dark of their room, his thoughts wander to the more somber corners of his mind.

He turns his head to look at Jemma.  
Her face is so peaceful.  
She doesn’t deserve any of this.

She doesn’t deserve to have to deal with both her and his problems.  
He’s just a burden for her.  
  
Maybe it would be better if I’d leave, he thinks bitterly.  
I could still return to her.  
Later.  
I would return not as a broken shell in need of fixing, but as someone who can actually support her instead of worrying her further.  
She would understand, wouldn’t she?  
She would …

 _Do it. Maybe she will find another one again. Someone who’s not pathetic like you_ … The Doctor’s voice says in his head.

Fitz shudders.  
He doesn’t hear the voice often lately.  
Altough he’s still adjusting to the anti-psychotics he takes, they have already kicked in and now the voice of The Doctor only comes when they have worn off and he’s really stressed or scared.  
Which seems to be the case now.

 _Do you really think, you will ever get rid of me? I’m a part of you, don’t forget that_ , The Doctor tells him spitefully.

Shut up, Fitz thinks. Shut up, shut up, _shut up_.

He involuntarily makes a distressed noise, that resembles a sob.

The mattress creaks. He freezes. Now he has woken Jemma up. Great. Just great.  
He closes his eyes, wishing himself far away.

Jemma exhales audibly, her hand finding Fitz’s shoulder, stroking over it carefully.

“Fitz? What’s wrong?” She mumbles sleepily.

Fitz swallows.  
Nothing, he wants to say.  
Because he doesn’t want to her to worry.  
She needs rest.

“Tell me, love,” She says. “We wanted to be honest to each other, remember?”

Fitz remembers.

“Can’t sleep,” he mumbles after a last moment of hesitation.

Jemma snuggles closer to him, so that she can lay her head on his chest.  
Her touch feels good. Warm and real.

“What can I do?” She asks him quietly.

Fitz swallows.  
“Can you talk to me?” He asks hesitantly.

“Sure. About anything specific?”

“Just … just talk about the earlier days.”  
He feels that that’s what he needs right now, for some reason.

The earlier days.

Back then, he thinks. Back then when we had so many bright dreams and less dark memories that feed our nightmares.  
Back then, when we thought we could rule the world.

Back then.

Jemma nods at his chest. She searches for his hand in the dark.    
When she finds it, she takes it in hers, their warm skin connecting like two fitting magnets.

She starts talking.

And Fitz listens.

 

Time passes.

When Jemma stops talking, Fitz’s eyes have long gotten used to the darkness in the room.  
He looks at her. Looks into her eyes, that are full of warm love.

“Better?” She asks him softly.

“Better,” he nods. “Thank you, Jemma.”

She smiles at him.

They fall asleep a little while later, still holding hands.

 

*

 

The next night, they start to kiss.  
It’s slow and passionate.

When they stop, Fitz feels a bit dizzy.  
He looks into Jemma’s eyes, and sees so much trust and love in them, that his heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy.

“Jemma,” he whispers.

She smiles at him, cupping his face in her hands.  
“Make love to me, Fitz,” she says. “I need you.”

He swallows.  
He feels both aroused and nervous.  
Suddenly he realizes, that they didn’t sleep with each other since they’re here.  
A ridiculous long time.  
Now he also feels guilty.  
It’s a strange mix of emotions, and it’s joined by desire.  
The desire for Jemma, burning hot and white in his heart.  
However, it’s not strong enough to fight back the other, more somber things, that are filling his heart. The fear. The worry, he might not be enough. He might be too broken. He might hurt her.

All scenarios, he thinks, are quite unlikely.

But the problem is, that there’s always a what if. Always.

Jemma seems to read his thoughts. Because she takes his hand and places it on her heart.    
“I love you Fitz,” she says. “I love you with all my heart. And I want to show you in all ways possible. I need you tonight. I need to feel you and touch you. I need to hold you while we’re connected in this special way. I need it. I need you.”

Fitz swallows.  
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay … I’ll try.”

After a last moment of hesitation, he lowers his head, pressing a soft kiss on her neck.

Jemma sighs.

She closes her eyes, tilting her head back to give him more room.

Fitz’s lips trace the veins on her neck with his lips. Her skin tastes salty and sweet the same time.

She pants beneath him, her hands moving over his back.

“Jemma,” he breathes against her neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” she says.

Everything.

In the dim light of the full moon, they touch each other frantically, hungrily.  
There are few words, only their names, whispered over and over again, in breathless pleasure.

They swallow each other’s sounds of pleasure, give and take in mute consent, knowing each other so well, that they read every plead, every wish in each other’s eyes.

It’s like a symphony.

“Fitz,” Jemma breathes when she reaches her climax. “Fitz …”

It’s the most wonderful sound and it fills Fitz’s heart with so much emotion that he could cry. He holds onto her, as he tips over the edge so violently, that he swears to see stars.

They’re not letting go.  
They’re connected.  
Souls, hearts and bodies.

It’s like it’s supposed to be.  

 

*

They heal.

 

Things are rediscovered while they do.  
They see each other in the same old and in new lights. 

 

Jemma thinks she has learned how to think more of herself while not feeling selfish for it. Also it's easier for her now to not feel guilty in case she can't do something immediately because she's either too exhausted or simply not in the mood.

She thinks that Fitz has come a long way too.   
Altough there are still nightmares, panic attacks, sudden mood swings or depressive episodes they have to overcome, he seems to be able to focus more on the future now. And he knows now how to control the darker parts of his mind, accepting it as something that's there, but it doesn't define him. Light and shadow, as Hunter once told him. He thinks he's close to find the balance.

 

The seasons change around them just like they do.

  
Autumn turns into winter.

The first snow comes in the night, while they’re fast asleep.

It covers everything in a soft, thick white blanket.

And when they wake up, they stare out of the window in awe.

“I’ve never seen so much snow,” Jemma says. “And look at it, it’s so smooth!”

Fitz nods. He shivers in the cold morning air, pulling his dressing gown tighter around his body. He scrunches up his nose.  
“I don’t like snow,” he mumbles. “It’s wet. And it doesn’t feel nice when you have it in your ears and your nose and …”

Jemma looks at him surprised.  
“Why would you have it in your ears?” She asks.

“Well. When some nine graders think they have to shove you into a snow pile headfirst …,” Fitz says, shuddering at the memory.

“Oh. But snow can be nice too,” Jemma assures him. “Come on, let’s go outside!”

Fitz sighs.  
“If you insist …”

 

 

They leave clear footsteps on the snow. It creaks under their shoes. Beside the noises they make, it’s completely silent around them.

“I have never made snow angels, you know?” Jemma says, a thoughtful expression on her face.  
Suddenly, she smiles.  
In one swift moment, she lays down into the snow on her back, looking at Fitz invitingly.  
“It’s very comfy,” she tells him.

Fitz hesitates. But eventually, he carefully lies down beside her.

He stares at the grey sky above him, breathing in the fresh, cold winter air.

Jemma beside him suddenly starts to move her arms up and down and her legs from side to side, giggling while doing so.

Fitz raises his eyebrows at her.

“Come on,” she says breathlessly. “Do it like me.”

Fitz obeys. He moves, feeling his limbs warming up a bit with the movements.

“Done!” Jemma jumps up, eagerly staring at her snow angel.

Fitz stands up too, knocking off the snow from his back.

“Yours is quite lovely,” Jemma says, looking at Fitz’s first snow angel.

Fitz smiles.  
“They look like they’re holding hands,” he notes.

“Yes,” Jemma says, immediately taking Fitz’s hand in hers.  
They look at each other.

Fitz feels his love for her burning in his heart, a contrast to the cold in the rest of his body.

She looks adorable, with her red nose and her sparkling eyes.

“We just made snow angels,” she says, sounding a bit disbelieving.

“We did,” Fitz nods, kissing the tip of her red nose. “And they’re bloody perfect.”

She laughs.

 

*

 

Life goes on.

Soon, they’re living in the cottage for almost a year.

New, lighter memories join their old, darker ones every day.

New words connected to good things.

Hopeful things.

 

Their wedding, although a bit delayed, is small and beautiful.  
The team is there. Fitz’s and Jemma’s parents are there. And Hunter with Bobbie and their daughter.   
Tears of joy are shed, and words of love find their hearts, remaining there forever.

 

“I think I want to start working again,” Fitz says once, looking down at his hands thoughtfully.

“Yes?” Jemma asks, smiling at him. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know yet. It was just an idea. And I like it. Maybe I’ll take a look at the jobs the nearby companies have to offer,” Fitz shrugs.

“Okay love,” Jemma says, kissing his cheek.

 

“I really miss you,” Daisy tells Fitz, when she visits them on a rainy Sunday, bringing cake and a postcard of May with her. “And I thought we could write each other. It may help us to work things out, don’t you think?”

“That’s a good idea,” Fitz says, smiling at her. He raises his glass of lemonade in the parody of a toast. “Let’s drink on our soon to begin letter friendship.”

Daisy laughs and clinks glasses with him.

 

“I’m pregnant,” Jemma says once, holding three pregnancy tests in her raised hand, smiling in breathless, happy amazement. “I’m pregnant, Fitz.”

And in this moment, he has no words in return.

He just kisses her for a very long time.

 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor tells them, handing them the first picture of their son.

They name him Christopher.

Christopher Phillip Fitzsimmons.

 

“I don’t know if I will be a good father, Jemma …,” Fitz says once, in the night, when his worries and the memories of his own father’s words won’t let him sleep.

_Useless. Worthless. Stupid. A disappointment. Can’t be my son. Maybe an offspring of another man? Who knows. Who knows if your mother didn’t cheat on me …_

Jemma lays her head on his chest, whispering, “You will. You will be an amazing father. Because you’re going to give everything your father didn’t give you, and a lot more, to Christopher. Because you are Leo Fitz, a kind and genuine man. Because you are you and that’s exactly how you’re supposed to be. Don’t worry Fitz. You already are the best father Christopher could ever have.”

And when the time comes, he knows her words are true.

 

“Dad!” Christopher calls, running down the stairs and into the living room, where Fitz’s sitting at the table, drafting the new arm prosthesis, he’s working on. He decided to build things, that help hurt and disabled people, from now on. It always reminds him of Coulson, who was always so eagerly waiting for his new hand prosthesis. The memory is bittersweet, accompanied by both pain and joy.    
But this work is exactly what he needs.  
He's building things and helps people.  
There are no dangers. No violence.   
It's peaceful and he knows his family is safe. 

“Dad look what I made!”

Fitz looks up, smiling, and Christopher shows him the spaceship he build from his Legos. He has three whole boxes full with Lego. Among them several models of Star Wars ships, which he has remodelled in many different creative ways, imagining he would be the reckless and funny Poe Dameron …  
He has an amazing, colorful imagination.

Fitz carefully takes the spaceship, looking at it from all sides.  
“It’s beautiful,” he tells Christopher, who smiles all over his face. “I think it’s your best one so far. You should take a picture.”

“Can you do it, Dad? While I’m holding it?”

“Sure.”

 

“I’m happy.”  
True words whispered before falling asleep.  
The answer is a kiss.  
And that’s it.  
That’s the life they built for themselves.

 

It’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker and always grateful for being corrected! I'm constantly trying to improve my English, so please don't hesitate to tell me about mistakes. <3
> 
> Visit me on tumblr: [ready-to-kick-some-ass](https://ready-to-kick-some-ass.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
